How to Pick Up a Maid in Statue Square
Page 12
“How’s it going?”
“I think I can sell to my plan.”
“Driving taxi and bartending. You work hard,” says Bill.
Made nods. “Yes. I have two jobs. Bali is not anymore what it used to be. I am forced to get out from the land.”
“The government expropriated a chunk of farm land, including Made’s family compound, and handed it over to hotel developers,” explains Carolyn.
“Jakarta government, not Balinese government,” says Made. His expression is serious.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” says Bill.
Made carefully wipes down the counter before he says, “Bali is change. Many places in Indonesia have no change.” Then he carries a rack of dirty glasses to the kitchen. Cleaning up paradise.
“Your feet are covered in mud, Bill.”
“Took a shortcut through the rice fields,” says Bill. Muck and roots pressed into his bared feet. He cannot understand how he found himself first on one road, then another.
“Did you get lost?”
“Little bit. There was a man. In the rice field. The second rice field. He gave me the crown. My mum was in the first rice field. On the phone. Christ, I sound like a nutter.”
Carolyn nods. “Bali’s a weird place.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Having fun,” says Carolyn. “I’m young. That’s what you do when you’re young, isn’t it?”
“Sometimes you have to grow up. I got married. And divorced.” Bill stares at his crowned reflection in the bar mirror; it looks like the heads are multiplying exponentially.
“Which is exactly why I’m travelling. I’ll go back to The States next year. I’ve been thinking about graduate school at Berkeley. I don’t know. In the meantime, I bake.”
“Is the cake good?”
“It’s totally fantastic. And I’m not just saying that because I made it.”
“Secret ingredient?”
Carolyn nods and sips her vodkatini.
“What is it?”
“Love,” says Carolyn simply. “You want some?”
“Cake?”
Carolyn nods and finishes her drink in one gulp. “Let’s go.”
On their way out, Carolyn says, “Wait.” She squats and scoops a small frog stranded on the walkway. Cradling it in cupped hands, she walks to the edge of a water garden and releases it onto a lily pad.
At the Café Wayan, Carolyn pulls a multi-layered chocolate cake from the takeout cooler by the front entrance, and slices a generous wedge into a Styrofoam container. Bill and Carolyn stand in the narrow road next to a clutter of parked motorcycles.
A large group of men wearing black-and-white sarongs and sneakers with fluorescent stripes, carrying backpacks slung casually over their shoulders, stream across the road and momentarily block traffic. As they brush past, several of them are texting or listening to music on earphones.
“Who are those guys?”
“Traditional Balinese dancers.”
Glancing back, Bill shifts the crown and rubs the back of his head. Balinese people. One foot in the rice field, one foot in the digital world.
“Well?” she asks after he forks down the slice.
“It’s fucking fantastic. The best chocolate cake I’ve ever had.”
“It was my mother’s recipe,” says Carolyn.
“Was?”
“She died a couple of years ago. Pancreatic cancer. It was a horrible death, Bill. Horrible.”
“Cancer’s a right bastard. My Mum just had a hysterectomy for a large cancerous mass. No treatment plans yet, although the staging is due any day.”
“Will you go home?”
“Yes,” he says without thinking, and realizes that his life as an expat is coming to an end. It’s not much of a life. Seldom home, he sees his friends once a month, usually at The Globe. And as a silent partner in the busy pub, his input isn’t required for the day-to-day operations, just his money. He is going home.
“I’m sorry, Bill.” Carolyn reaches across and hugs him. The crown slips. He pats her back awkwardly. Her scent is a mixture of sweat, patchouli, and ginger. On impulse, he touches her dreadlocks and they feel like tatted wool. It occurs to him that Carolyn is probably the same age as Dave and that he has no business touching her hair.
“I see you, Bill.”
“What do you see?”
“All kinds of stuff.”
“My sternum is aching.”
“It’s understandable, totally understandable.”
“It’s angina, actually. I thought it was a heart attack the first time it happened but it’s angina.”
She smacks him. “I was talking about your mum. And you touched my hair, you perv.”
“You’re woolly,” says Bill.
“I know,” says Carolyn and pulls him closer, still.
Forcing himself to relax, Bill settles into the embrace. It feels good to be in a girl’s arms again. One summer, in what seems like another life, he partied on Bell’s Beach with the surfers, having fun. Later that summer, he sat with a girl on the edge of a bonfire. There was an image of her imprinted in his memory. Sitting cross-legged on a blanket, she turned toward him, her hair tousled from the breeze, her face open and smiling. Her bared feet were covered with a fine layer of sand.
Bill realizes that he never really committed. That he turned away from her from the start. When he sees her at Dave’s graduation, he could say something. Anything. He could do that much. What he means is that he could do that much for her, for that girl on the beach.
The next morning, Bill lies beneath a cool, cotton sheet at the Hotel Kebun Indah and checks his phone for a message about a biopsy. Nothing. His crown is on the floor beside his muddy sandals. His scalp is tender where he palpates a slight bump on his occipital bone. He listens to roosters crowing in the distance, thinking that he once was a good surfer, thinking that he is no longer young. Thinking it doesn’t matter anymore. He is alone. There was this girl, in another life, Maggie, and there was another girl, in this life, Carolyn. That is all. Carolyn, with dreadlocks and dirty tanned feet. Holding him on a dark night in Ubud.
DRINKS LIST
Heineken
mojito
JD
Beamish
Coca-Cola
scotch-scotch
whiskey
gin tonic
duty-free Bacardi
vodkatini
PLAYLIST
“Head Above Water “by Hunters & Collectors
“Disorder” by Joy Division
“This is not a love song” by PIL
“Temptation” by New Order
“Pacific Theme” by Broken Social Scene
“The Fairytale of New York” by The Pogues (with Kirsty McColl)
“Ever Fallen in Love” by The Buzzcocks
“Ceremony” by New Order
“Stranded” by The Saints
“Stars & Sons” by Broken Social Scene
“Forget Myself ” by Elbow
“Love Will Tear Us Apart” by Joy Division
NOTES & ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Earlier versions of several of these stories appeared in the following publications:
“Rephrasing Kate” The New Quarterly
“Leon” The Fiddlehead
“The Suitable Dress” Grain
Thank you to the editors of each. Your support meant everything to this isolated writer.
I gratefully acknowledge the support of the Banff Centre, the Alberta Foundation for the Arts, and the Calgary Foundation. Also, I thank the Humber School for Writers and, in particular, Trevor Cole for expert counsel on the manuscript.
A special thank you to my friend and writing partner Beth Everest, who provided essential feedback over the years. Thank you to fellow writing colleagues for their manuscript reviews on selected stories: Jeramy Dodds, Charlotte Gill, Lori Hahnel, Lee Kvern, Melanie Little, and Deborah Willis.
I owe a debt of gratitude to Andrew Mountfo
rd and the gang at HK Expats for the fun and inspiration.
Finally, thanks to Al Forrie, Jackie Forrie, editor Seán Virgo, and the rest of the crew at Thistledown Press. Your insight into and enthusiasm for this collection of stories are much appreciated.